Be Still My Soul

by Joanne Bischof

  “Looks like you got the path cleared,” Jebediah said without looking up from his work. Using stout fingers, he smeared grease into a large trap.

  “Yessir.” Exhausted, Gideon pulled up a stool, then thought the better of it. “Need a hand?”

  “Naw. Just making use of the last hour of daylight.” Jebediah clamped the lid on the can of grease and swiped the grungy rag over his hands. He slid a stool from beneath the workbench, and the rickety wood creaked as he settled down. They sat without speaking for several moments.

  Gideon threw words around in his mind but couldn’t think of how to begin.

  “Somethin’ eatin’ you, son?” Jebediah spoke without looking up.

  Gideon fiddled with the edge of his thumbnail.

  Tipping his face up, Jebediah looked to the doorway. The house lay a stone’s throw beyond. “That Lonnie of yours is quite a lady. It’s been a right fine pleasure having her.”

  “She is.” That was one thing he knew for sure. Yet he was nowhere near to deserving her.

  “I’m starting to get used to the idea of you bumming around as well.”

  When Gideon looked up, Jebediah smiled and he saw that he was teasing.

  “You’ve been working hard, and I sure do appreciate it.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Jebediah glanced at him, his gray beard brushing his coat. “Can’t believe there’s gonna be a little one ’round before we know it.”

  Gideon grunted. “Me neither.” He glanced out to the house and imagined his child playing inside with Lonnie. She would take the baby for walks in the woods. His baby would have pieces of him, whether he was willing to give more of himself or not. Stabbing the toe of his boot against the plank floor, Gideon suddenly wished he had more to give.

  He wished he were a better man.

  “You ready?” Jebediah straightened, and steely eyes danced with curiosity.

  “No.”

  “Neither was I.” The older man’s gaze faltered.

  “You had children?”

  Heavy eyelids, wrinkled with age, blinked. “A girl.” Jebediah rested an elbow on the worktable behind him. “Many years ago. Probably before you were even born.”

  Gideon felt his mouth open.

  “She died when she was three.” Jebediah smoothed his thumb over a knot in the worktable. “Fever took her.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Jebediah ducked his head and seemed to gather himself before speaking. “Don’t be. It was hard at first, especially for Elsie. She was real young then. Fever almost got her too.”

  Gideon could think of nothing to say. But something inside him began to ache. The Bennetts deserved better than that.

  Deep lines etched across Jebediah’s forehead. “God always has a plan, though. Whether we’re privy to it or not.”

  “Can’t say I agree.”

  “Didn’t say you had to.”

  Gideon glanced at him.

  “Life’s short, Gid.” He plopped his heel on the lowest rung. The stool creaked its age. “It’s too short to be wastin’ time worrying. Too short to be wastin’ time runnin’.”

  “I’m not runnin’.”

  “You’ve been runnin’ since the moment I met you. Before that, I’d reckon.” He squeezed Gideon’s shoulder. “I’d say the sooner you stop and face whatever it is that’s chasin’ you, the sooner you’ll see how much time you’re wastin’.”

  Gideon dipped his head.

  Jebediah lowered his face, forcing Gideon to meet his gaze. “I can tell you’ve been thinkin’ about it. It’s time to get off the fence, Gideon. It’s yer pride and nothin’ more.”

  Crossing his arms over his chest, Gideon chewed the inside of his cheek. Finally, he nodded slowly. Jebediah spoke the truth and nothing less.

  “I know you’ve been itching to get you and Lonnie on your way, but that baby’ll be here before you know it. If you want to know what’s good for Lonnie … if you know what’s good for that little one … I hope you’ll stick around here a little longer.” With a weary sigh, Jebediah rose. His movements were slow as he lifted the stool back into place. “Just want you to know you’re welcome.”

  Thirty-Two

  The air hung heavy with the smell of smoking pork as Gideon walked past the kitchen window, a load of fragrant cedar pressed to his chest. He spotted Lonnie through the glass. She was focused on the bowl of batter she was whisking. Her hair was coiled at the nape of her neck, still damp from the bath she’d taken. The empty tub sat waiting for him, but with Lonnie fully occupied, Gideon quietly set the wood down and strode to the barn, hoping to get a little more work done on his project before suppertime.

  He pulled the heavy piece from its hiding place, picked up a square of sandpaper, and started where he had left off. Every few minutes, he ran his hand across the wood. Wherever he felt a spot that was not to his satisfaction, he sanded it some more. Though it was going slower than he liked, the cradle was taking shape. His baby was going to sleep in this cradle. Lonnie would sit barefoot and rock it with her toes. He’d built it large enough to last the baby through the first year. Kneeling, he eyed one edge and ran his thumb across the silken wood. It had to be perfect.

  He hummed a tune as he worked. He blew a puff of dust from the edge, the intricate grain a slowly developing mystery. Just last week Elsie had whispered that Lonnie’s birthday was in a few days. The twenty-first of January. Gideon hadn’t been able to hide his surprise. It pained him as much now as it had then that he’d never thought to learn her birthday. He touched the smooth wood. He hadn’t planned on completing his project so soon, but he didn’t want to pass up on the opportunity to surprise her. A few more days after that and the gift would be ready to oil. He hoped she wouldn’t mind that it would not be finished.

  He was certain that Lonnie was in the parlor this very moment, knitting the booties she’d been working on all week. Nearly every afternoon he found her with a different type of needle in her hand. She was always making something out of yarn. When she wasn’t doing that, she spent the quiet evening hours writing letters home. How long was it now that they’d been at the Bennetts’? Gideon shook his head. He’d lost track of the months.

  When shadows stretched across the yard, Gideon knew he had lingered too long. He moved the hefty gift out of sight, swept up his mess, and put away Jebediah’s tools. Wiping his hands together, he glanced around to make certain everything was in its place—the cradle tucked safely out of sight.

  He stepped out into the cold night air. Snow crunched under his boots. He latched the barn door and rattled the handle. One glance at the dim sky and he was certain it would snow again during the night. After checking the woodbox, he glanced around the farm. All seemed well.

  After dropping his hat on the washstand, he rolled up his sleeves and filled the pitcher with cold water. Elsie always set out a hot pitcher before supper, and Gideon glanced in the window, wondering if he’d kept the others waiting.

  “Wait!” Lonnie pushed the door open with her hip, a pail of water pressed to her chest. “I had this warming near the stove for you.” Water sloshed over the edge as she lowered the pail down at his feet. “You didn’t have to do that.”

  “Now you won’t have to come in and stand next to the stove after washin’ up.” She wiped her hands on her apron. Fir boughs hung on the door behind her, hints of dried needles catching in her hair. Gideon fought the urge to smooth them away.

  “Thank you.” He took his eyes off her only long enough to pick up the pail.

  “Hurry or it will get cold.” Her fingertips fumbled the side of the bucket as if trying to help him.

  Gideon stared at her. Lonnie stared back. It took him a moment to remember what he was doing. Wash. Right. He splashed his face and ran a soft rag over his neck. With her still watching, he cracked a smile. “Are you checking to see if I get behind my ears?” Water dripped from his face.

  “Maybe.” She held a towel out to him. “It would be a first, I bet.�
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  He laughed out the words. “Are you saying somethin’?” He slid his hands back into the water, enjoying the way his fingers thawed. Then Gideon rubbed water up and down his forearms, chagrined by the dingy tint to the water. He shook his hands at the bucket, and droplets flew. “Do I have time for a real bath before supper?”

  She placed her knuckles on her hips and tilted her head to the side. “Plenty.”

  “All right, then. I’ll put some water on the stove.”

  “Already been done.” Lonnie smiled and opened the screen door. She disappeared before Gideon could say anything.

  He stepped into the warm kitchen.

  “Water’s ready.” With a hot pad, Lonnie clutched the kettle away from herself, and Gideon followed, carrying a hefty pot. He struggled to see the steps with the bulky pot in front of him and nearly tripped twice.

  “Let me get the door.” She pounded up the stairs, nearly knocking him down. Between her belly and his jutted elbows, it took careful maneuvering for her to squeeze by. As she smashed him against the top of the railing, the smell of dried cedar boughs filled the hallway.

  “Sorry!” She slid into the bedroom and held the door. He squeezed past.

  She poured the kettle of water into the tub, and steam rose. It took them several trips to fill the washtub, then Lonnie left him to his bath. He heard every click of her shoes as she strode down the hall. The water barely hit his calf when he climbed in. He splashed water up and down his arms, feeling the tension melt away. He scrubbed his face and took extra care to wash behind his ears.

  A knock came through the door. “It’s me,” Lonnie called. “I’ve got the scissors. Holler for me when you’re done.”

  “Scissors?”

  “For your haircut. And I don’t want to hear any excuses.” A smile carried on her voice.

  He chuckled. Pressing the rag to the top of his head, he closed his eyes and water dripped down his face and chest. He sat there until his bath turned cold and the smell of roasted pork wafted from downstairs.

  Gideon dried off and shuffled through the dresser drawer until he found a clean shirt. He put it on and checked his appearance in the mirror. He ran his hand through hair that hadn’t been cut in months. He dumped out his bath water and put the tub away, then went in search of his wife.

  “Lonnie’s gonna cut my hair. Have you seen her?”

  Elsie glanced up from the pot she was stirring. Her eyebrows rose. “She went to fetch a stool.”

  Gideon ducked outside in time to see Lonnie struggling across the yard. Snow fell in soft flakes around her. He jogged out, took the stool, and carried it back to the house. “You shouldn’t lift things like this.”

  Her cheeks colored, and a smile was his only answer. She grabbed the broom as they passed through the kitchen. Gideon set the stool in the center of their bedroom, and Lonnie leaned the broom against the wall, then pulled a small pair of scissors from her apron pocket. “I have been waiting for this for a long time.”

  “Is it that bad?” He tossed his hand through his hair, swiping what few snowflakes remained.

  “Shirt.” She pointed to the bed.

  He made quick work of the buttons and tossed it onto the bed before sitting.

  She ran the comb through his wet locks, and Gideon tried to sit still. “Don’t cut me,” he murmured.

  Her words were near his ear. “I’ll try not to.”

  Gideon held his neck steady as she tugged at his hair. Snip, snip. Autumn-colored curls fell to the floor.

  He glanced at the mess around his feet. “You’re sure you ain’t cuttin’ too much now?”

  “Will you just hush and let me work?” She forced his head up. “I’m good at this, trust me.”

  His pa had once told him to never trust a woman who said “Trust me.” Gideon sighed and looked ahead.

  Her hand stroked through his hair in rhythm with the comb. The soft pull made Gideon’s eyes flutter closed, but every bit of his consciousness was on the fingers touching his hair. As she made her way from side to side, her belly brushed against his back. He wondered what it would be like to run his hand over the fabric of her dress.

  “Hold still,” she whispered and then placed fingertips on each side of his head, steadying it.

  He swallowed. “Sorry.”

  She breathed softly as she worked in silence. His head felt light when she smoothed the strands behind each ear.

  “How’s it going back there?” His voice came out dry and raspy. He cleared his throat but couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes. “Does it look good?”

  “Uh-huh,” she murmured. “All done.” She grazed the strands at the base of his head.

  Lonnie brushed the fallen crescents off his shoulders. “Just a moment. Close your eyes.” She touched his temples.

  He did as told and felt her fingers gently smooth over his nose and brush at his cheeks. His heart pounded. He licked his lips and reminded himself to breathe. But when Lonnie leaned in and blew on his forehead, he forgot what he was supposed to remember.

  “Open your eyes,” she said, and he looked up at her. She clutched a hand mirror to her chest and stepped behind him before reaching it around.

  “What do you think?”

  Gideon stared at his reflection, scarcely recognizing himself. “You did a fine job.” He turned his head from side to side.

  “You look very handsome.”

  He caught her watching him in the mirror. “Thanks,” he said sheepishly.

  Thirty-Three

  Finished sweeping, Gideon leaned the broom against the wall. He spotted a slow shadow moving along the edge of the property. He narrowed his gaze. A black coat flickered between the trees. Chills pricked along Gideon’s shoulders, but in a blink, he realized it was Gus, Jebediah’s neighbor. Gideon pressed his hand to his chest and let out a slow breath. Still, the debt tainting his name gnawed at him, and as he watched Gus stride out of sight, he knew Bert and his cohorts were coming for him.

  He vowed to get the watch back to Bert. And then some. Bert’s words echoed in his mind. The man expected more than just a watch. Gideon shook his head. He scarcely had two pennies to rub together.

  Gideon stepped away from the window. He had no way of making money. He worked for food and board. Nothing more. And rightly so. Jebediah and Elsie gave freely of all they had. As he put the broom away, he knew he had to think of something.

  The smells of roasted pork and hot gravy pulled Gideon into the kitchen. He sat beside Lonnie as Jebediah blessed the food, then his hands followed hers. She took a biscuit, and he took one too. With each platter that passed his way, he made certain she’d taken her share before helping himself to any. Lonnie’s laughter rang in unison with Elsie’s when Jebediah told a joke. Gideon glanced at his wife and couldn’t help smiling along. He found it impossible to pull his gaze from her cheery face.

  When Elsie began to pick the rest of the meat from the bone, Gideon leaned back in his chair and smoothed his hands down his stomach. “You feed us too well.” He stretched, stepped to the woodbox, and found a thin shard. Crouching in front of the stove, he held the sliver to the flames until it caught. He lit his pipe, then handed the small flame over to Jebediah, who followed him into the parlor and lit his own.

  Lonnie sat at the writing desk and scribbled away on another letter. Gideon cupped his pipe between his thumb and forefinger and watched his wife. She reached behind her and rubbed her lower back. The tin ring on her finger clicked against the wooden chair.

  She turned and looked at him, catching his stare. “Promise me you will get this to the post office soon?”

  He cleared his throat. “I will do it soon as I can.” Mount Airy was more than fifteen miles away, and there was rarely a day that he had that kind of time. But something in him made him want to get it there.

  Her mouth moved in a silent thank-you. She tucked the letter aside and moved to the rocking chair. Gideon set his pipe on the mantel and reached for his mandolin. He began t
o tune the eight strings, and before he finished, Lonnie offered up a request.

  “I don’t know that one.” Gideon shifted the instrument into place.

  “It’s an old, old hymn.”

  He clutched the mandolin to his chest. “Why don’t you start singin’ it and I’ll catch on?”

  She fiddled with the edge of her apron. Finally, she nodded softly. “All right.” She crossed her ankles and set the rocker in motion. She drew in a measured breath, then let it out slowly. Her voice began small, the first words barely more than a whisper.

  Gideon moved his hand to the fret board as he listened. He felt his mouth tip in a half smile. She was singing. For him.

  Her voice grew louder, more sure. The melody unfolded in Gideon’s mind, and his hands moved out of instinct as he began to play softly. Quietly, Elsie joined in. Jebediah leaned back against the sofa, arms folded over his chest, and closed his eyes. His head nodded in rhythm. Elsie chose the next song, and together they sang into the night. Elsie’s soprano was pleasant. Lonnie’s was smooth, but just like the spruce beneath his hands, it had the slightest grain. Gideon couldn’t take his eyes from Lonnie’s face. She seemed to stare at the fire, her expression serene.

  The last song ended, the vibrations quieting. It wasn’t until the grandfather clock chimed nine that Lonnie blinked as if coming back from a faraway place. When her eyes met Gideon’s, she smiled sheepishly.

  Elsie reached over and patted Lonnie’s knee. “That was lovely, dear. You should sing more often.”

  Gideon set his instrument aside and, leaning forward, rubbed his palms together. “I second that.”

  Lonnie blushed and he winked.

  Jebediah glanced over his shoulder at the clock. “Is it that late? I should have been in bed a good hour ago. We’ve got an early start tomorrow.”

  “And I have a special breakfast planned for someone’s birthday.” Elsie said.